


Steel and Silk

by silver_blacker



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, crackship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_blacker/pseuds/silver_blacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Stannis rides on his stallion through the old gate of Winterfell all he could think of is how cold the bloody place is.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>AU setting where Catelyn did go back to Winterfell during the war and hence escaped the Red Wedding. Stannis arrives at Winterfell with a request that could help him claim back his rightful throne if it is met. Alternating POVs between Stannis and Catelyn depending on how the story flow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stannis I

As Stannis rides on his stallion through the old gate of Winterfell all he could think of is how cold the bloody place is, even colder than he has imagined. He was born and raised in Storm's End and he was quite convinced the freezing air and the howling wind of the sea have made him immune to any extreme temperature. Well he sees that he is wrong now. Winterfell has made both Storm's End and Dragonstone seem as warm as the cities across the Narrow Sea. No one has ever mentioned to him how easy it actually is for a man to give up to the cold and fall off his horse to die, just like one of his soldiers the night before. _Knights of Summer_ , they are, _and when winter comes they will die_ , he now understands that perfectly. Stannis looks over his shoulder and sees Melisandre sitting rather comfortably on her horse. She has her chin held up with a faint smile on her face. She is wearing very little clothing for such a harsh ride as this. Her crimson gown barely covers her breasts and her collarbone is showing, exposing the whole of her neck to the cold air of the north. The golden necklace she always hangs around her neck glimmers faintly in the pale white winter sunlight. The red ruby inlaid on the accessory seems to be flickering with a fire burning within. Stannis quickly turns back his head and stares straightly ahead. He is curious how the red woman keep warm in this weather, but he knows for sure she would answer with something very similar to 'the Lord of Light has his fire burning inside me' or 'the cold has no effect on the true servant of the Lord of Light'. Empty talks. Religious words. Stannis has little faith for her god when his army is thinning day by day, with men dying here and there. Reflectively Stannis looks to his left and searches for his counselor, but immediately remembers his onion knight is away in the White Harbor trying to win the mermen over to join his force. It feels oddly strange without the smuggler by his side. He seems to be the only one that has not had his head filled with the words of this Lord of Light and would gladly give him honest opinions on any matters these days.

"Stannis Baratheon first of his name, king of the Andals, the Rhoynar of the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." One of his men proclaims to the receiving party as Stannis climbs off his horse. The way into the castle has been blocked by northmen clad in thick furs with swords in their hands and hostile glares on their long and pale faces.

"And Azor Ahai reborn, bringer of light and the rightful king the Lord of Light has chosen." Melisandre adds behind him as she also climbs off her horse, her voice soft but firm.

Stannis turns his neck and gives her a cold stare. He does not like it when the red priestess speaks when it is not time for her to speak or when she talks of the her god inside these walls. The northmen are famous for their traditionalism if not their stubbornness. They worship trees, for god's sake. Declaring him a follower of a foreign god would not gain him any respect nor support, that is if this trip would actually gain him anything at all. He has discussed this with Melisandre, ordered her even, no mentioning of her god and definitely not of burning anything for sacrifice. He knows she would burn all the weirwood if she could in the name of her Lord of Light, but he is sure that would end up badly.

"I am simply stating what is true, my king." Melisandre returns his gaze with a knowing look. "They ought to know who you are and what you would offer."

"You would offer nothing but wars and deaths." Ser Rodrik shouts among the northmen that have gathered around them. The heavily-built old man looks frail and weary, but with authority in his voice, truly a soldier seasoned in battles. His words have immediately received a few nods and murmurs of agreement from the crowd.

"Aye. Wars and deaths indeed." Stannis says before the red woman can open her mouth. He looks at the northmen in turn until his eyes find and lock on Ser Rodrik's. "Wars and deaths upon your enemies who have slain your king and kins under their roof. Oath breakers, traitors, murderers. Freys, Boltons, Lannisters. " Stannis stares at the old knight, his eyes stern and unmoved, until the knight breaks in front of him. With angry tears in his eyes he lowers his sword and yells, along with the other northmen. "Aye! Justice for the King in the North! Aye!"

As the crowd clears a path Stannis walks into the keep of the ancient castle with Melisandre following him, her red cloak swirling behind her.

***************

"It was a convincing speech you made down there, my lord." Lady Catelyn comments as he enters the hall. Her voice trails off softly in the long distance between them.

"It is a king you are talking to and you should refer to him as 'your grace'." Melisandre declares, her tone scornful with a hint of dismay.

"My lady has no need for your correction, Melisandre." Stannis grinds his teeth and says to the red priestess. He has quite enough of her for the day, and the sun has not even set yet. "Leave us," he commands. His guards and squire nod curtly and turn away but the woman lingers. "Even you, Melisandre." Stannis says through his teeth. The red woman widens her eyes. For a second he thinks she may defy him, but she obeys and bows. "If that pleases you, my king." She turns and leaves the hall.

With no one around him Stannis makes his way to the front dais of the hall, where Lady Catelyn sits next to the empty grand seat that belongs to the Lord of Winterfell. Four guards with the direwolf sigil embroidered on their cloaks stand still nearby, ready to defend their Lady Stark at any time.

"My lady." He walks up to her and greets.

Catelyn offers him her hand. Stannis walks closer and lays a brief kiss on her knuckles. Her skin feels cool and delicate against his lips. He stands back as her beautifully blue but sad eyes watch him. He knows she is judging every bit of him and deciding whether he is trust worthy or not. When she has made a decision she waves her guards away. One hesitates and turns to face her. "It is fine, ser." Catelyn says, "I am with Stannis Baratheon. The man knows his manner."

As the door closes behind him Stannis realises how alone they are. When was the last time he was alone with a woman other than Melisandre or his late wife? The memory is lost to him.

"What is your matter here, my lord?" Catelyn asks.

"To offer my condolences for your loss, Lady Stark." Stannis replies as he suppresses his urge to grind his teeth. He fails to notice she still refuses to regard him as 'your grace'. He would be lying if he says this does not bother him. He himself has the only right in the seven kingdoms to be called a king. Any man otherwise is either an usurper or a product of incestuous acts. But Winterfell has yet to declare which king she serves since the death of her last one. The North has gone into chaos after the Red Wedding with the Boltons serving the iron throne and the so-called prince of Winterfell simply a crippled boy of eight with no experience in battles and politics. Stannis needs to win over the Starks, at least of what is remaining of them, and explictly reminding the lady of this house her dead son is an usurper and him alone is the rightful king would be deemed an unwise action to take. So, Stannis allows Catelyn to refer to him as 'my lord' if this is what she prefers. Manners and titles are not his first priority at the moment.

"Which loss?" She says. It strikes Stannis how easy these words slip through her lips. She asks him whose death he is referring to, her son or her husband, or the reported severe casualties of her house in the Red Wedding as if she is asking him about the weather. Stannis looks at the woman and finds her emotion inscrutable, as if she has none.

"All of them." seems to be a safe answer.

Lady Catelyn smiles, the first genuine hint of kindness she has expressed towards him since he stepped inside these walls. A good sign of trust, he hopes. "I am sure my lord did not travel all this way just to offer a widow his condolences." She sits up straight and puts her hands on the table.

"Indeed I did not," Stannis says slowly. "I come with a proposal," he needs to be very careful now. He has discussed this with Ser Davos on which approach would be the best that could serve him his cause. He just needs to execute his phrases cautiously without haste. Catelyn raises her brows and gives him a curious look, urging him to go on. He swallows nervously. He is a king and he did not flinch an inch before engaging into a bloodbath in the war but this, has made him very uncomfortable and he wants nothing more than to back away and leaves this bloody place. But he needs this. If he back away now the throne would be truly lost to him and no gods in the seven kingdoms old or new could help him. He lets out a soft sigh. "I come with a proposal to ask for your hand in marriage."

His words seem to have startled Catelyn who has been calm and would seem to be unsurprised to hear anything from anyone. She stands up from her chair, the wooden legs dragging on the stone floor making ugly and loud noises. Then she laughs, her laughter awkward and strange in the seriousness of this atmosphere.

"Did my lady find this amusing?" Stannis grinds his teeth so hard he is sure she could hear him from this short distance. He is confused. He expects her to be bemused, or angry even. He feels humiliated when she laughs at him, as if he is a naive child and has just suggested something absurd and impossible.

"Is my lord serious?" Catelyn sits back down with a grin on her face.

"Is your _King_ never serious?" Stannis rebuts. His jaw is soar from all his grinding.

The grin on Catelyn's face is quickly wiped off and the hall immediately falls back to its former seriousness. The silence lingers as Catelyn stays speechless and seems to be struggling with the right response to give and Stannis too furious and offended to say anything else.

"Why?" She tests, after seemingly a long time.

"It would be best, for your son's house and mine." Stannis holds his hands tightly behind his back. He has prepared for this. "I can help you avenge your son and husband. One word and my men are yours, all ten thousand of them. Roose Bolton is spying on invading Winterfell. With the Lannisters proclaiming him the Warden of the North all that stand between him and his seat are your sons, Brandon and Rickon. My army could protect them." Stannis notices Catelyn stirs in her seat at the mentioning of her sons and knows he is on the right track. "And Lord Eddard Stark, before receiving the so-called mercy from the Lannisters, has personally written me a letter and proclaimed me the rightful king to the seven kingdoms," Catelyn turns her neck and looks away when the name of her late husband is heard, "so you see, my lady. I am simply following your lord husband's legacy, fulfilling his last wish. Only me on the iron throne could serve you the justice that you seek." Stannis finishes with his speech. Catelyn's eyes are sorrowful. She stands again and goes around the long table so that she could stand right in front of him. A rare urge to smile creeps up to Stannis as he knows for certain she would agree to the marriage. _So this is what it feels to get what you want._

"No." She states blandly.

Stannis's mind cannot process what he just heard. He takes a huge step back and breathes in deeply, calming his rapidly beating heart. _What does she mean by 'no'? Does this woman lack the capability to distinguish a good plan when one is presented? Can she not see how they would both benefit from this marriage? This is ridiculous. She is not to stand between me and my --_

"You have once again produced a beautiful speech that could move any one, my lord. But I am not Ser Rodrik. The problem is," Catelyn seems to be able to see through his head and read off his questions, "I do not take you as an honorable man."

Stannis frowns. They say if Eddard Stark is the most honorable man in the seven kingdoms then Stannis Baratheon is the second. He has not misused his power just like his brother Robert had. His brother has whored and drunk himself into an early grave and certainly Lady Stark does not see him as his brother. Unlike his brother, he always does his duties. He held Storm's End because Robert ordered him to, even when it means the risk of his life. He made no complain when Robert cast him to Dragonstone, simply because he is honorable enough to follow his king's order. He chopped off Davos's fingers but granted him a lordship because he is a just man. He honors the service the onion knight has provided at his illest hours but he also honors the laws and has punished the smuggler rightfully. All the actions he has taken so far have done nothing but to show how honorable a man he is.

"I saw, with my own eyes," Catelyn explains, "A demonic shadow creeping out from the dark and slained your brother Renly inside his own tent with his men guarding outside. Brienne of Tarth was accused of killing Renly, the man whom she would gladly die for." She says, every word that escapes her mouth a pointy arrow aiming at Stannis. "If you are as honorable as you think you are, you won't have used witchcraft and magic to do your dirty work and nevertheless allow an innocent girl to be tainted with an accusation of a dreadful deed she holds no accountability for."

Stannis feels weak, but he is not giving up, not here when he has already embarrassed himself. He will not leave Winterfell without her agreement, he swears this to the old gods and new.

"Desperate measures at desperate times." He argues back. "Renly had made himself a traitor the day he called himself a king. He was unreasonable, impossible to argue with. You were present when I tried to reason with him, my lady. You heard me telling him I would even name him my heir if no son was born from me as long as he gave up this false claim. But no, he was to continue on this wrongful path for his mind was poisoned by the Tyrells that he thought he could actually become king before his older brother could. How is it honorable to kill thousands of men in a battlefield but not to kill a single traitor that could spare the lives of many? I used to love the boy, my lady, I really did. I watched him grew up and I practically raised him as my own when Robert would take no care of him when my parents died. I value family as much as you do, Catelyn."

Lady Stark shakes when her name rolls off his tongue. She looks half-convinced, if not fully. She paces in front of him, and in the first time ever she acts like she is considering his proposal.

"And Brienne?"

Stannis grinds when the issue is raised. "I would forgive Lady Brienne and remove all the stain of her name." It is hard to say these words of forgiveness for someone who wishes him dead, but he senses the need to compromise. Therefore, he compromises, just as he always does as a younger brother.

Catelyn paces around the hall for a relatively long time. Stannis is almost too impatient to wait for a response that seems will never come but any reckless move would cost him this marriage proposal. Finally, Catelyn turns to him. He urgently searches for hints of agreement but her eyes would not betray her thoughts.

"Done."

Stannis smiles.


	2. Stannis II

There were no wedding, no feast, and definitely no bedding ceremony. Any relations to the Red Wedding would be deemed inconsiderate and offensive in the north these days. They found a septor that follows the faith of the seven and he and Catelyn were quickly declared man and wife. It was brief but neat. They are no longer young boys and girls who crave for grand weddings and big feasts with guests pouring in through the front door just to have a glimpse of the groom and his bride. Anything more than an exchange of vows would be a surplus. Suddenly he wonders what would Robert say about this, his own brother marrying the widow of his best friend without even a proper wedding. Would he be happy for them or would he be furious? Stannis then reminds himself he needs no blessings from a dead man and this marriage is for the greater interest of the realm instead of the pursuing of their own personal enjoyment. He is certain Lady Catelyn also holds similar understanding. She has been deferential by honoring his request for peace and solitude during his stay here in Winterfell, just so he can have some time of reflection before he marches his army into a war that may or may not take his life. She has respected the arrangements: separate beds, separate rooms, isolation from any distraction a marriage could possibly create. She had however invited him to join the family supper alone with her and her two sons every night if possible. He considered it and could not think of any harmful consequences to this dinner plan. He can easily fight off a slender woman and two boys if he must, especially with one of them a cripple and the other a toddler no older than five years of age. He is a king. He can do dinners. 

He cannot do dinners. As he sat next to Catelyn in the great hall for his first supper with the Stark boys he found himself incapable of enduring this social event. Rickon, the youngest of all Starks, would not stop crying. He opened his mouth and screamed as loud as a piglet at slaughter. He mistrusts strangers, his mother explained to Stannis as he eyed the child coldly with a piece of defying beef battling against his teeth in his mouth. Give him some time and you will learn to adore him, she said. Stannis nodded and held his tongue, knowing Lady Catelyn would not be pleased to hear what was truly in his mind. If Rickon was not the worst then his brother was. Brandon was abnormally quiet and did not speak much, not in front of Stannis at least. He would watch him with an expressionless face as he sat there holding the cutlery in his hands while his food remained untouched. This made Stannis very uncomfortable but he tries not to show his uneasiness. 

Catelyn asks him a question, but he is too distracted by Brandon's staring eyes that he misses her. 

"I beg your pardon, my lady." He pulls his gaze away from the boy and forces himself to look directly into the eyes of his wife. 

"I was just wondering, how is Shireen?" Catelyn says very calmly as she tears a piece of stale bread with her hands. "That is the name of your daughter, yes?" 

"Oh, " Stannis twitches his lips at the subject, "Yes. She is fine, my lady." He dismisses the topic coldly and indulges himself in his steak, cutting the meat with his knife as hardly as he could, indicating the end of this conversation. 

"She must be getting lonely in Dragonstone without any friends of her age, maybe she would like to meet Bran and Rickon one day?" 

Stannis flings his head and glares at Catelyn. The woman smiles warmly at him as she puts a small piece of bread into her mouth. What exactly does she think she is doing, challenging a king's parenting method? 

"Perhaps." Stannis chews on his steak as well. Two can play this game. "How is Sansa, your eldest daughter, still missing and suspected of murdering Joffrey Baratheon?" 

If Catelyn is wounded by his words she shows no other sign than frowning slightly at him. Before she could further respond, Stannis abruptly stands from his chair and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Excuse me, my lady, Brandon, Rickon." He nods at each of them then leaves the table as he walks down the raised dias to the door, his footsteps echoing in the emptiness of the hallway. 

***************

When Stannis enters his chamber he finds Melisandre standing by the fireplace with her back facing him. In her hand is a cup made of gold and gem stone. He wonders if it is some magical goblet she needs to perform her mysterious rituals. 

Melisandre turns and smiles sweetly at him. Stannis knows the priestess is anything but sweet. She is a dangerous person with an endgame unknown to him. It seems absurd for a woman to travel across the Narrow Sea just to make him king. Why does the foreign god of hers care who sits the iron throne? In fact, why would any god, if such exists, care about this little 'game' they mortals play? 

"My king." Her womanly figure moves graciously towards him. She lifts her hand and cups his jaw. Her skin is burning. He flinches away from her touch and makes a step back. 

"I am wed, Melisandre." He says sternly. "A married man needs to honor his lady." 

The red woman snickers and takes a sip from her goblet, the sourness of the Dornish red filling up his nostrils. 

Stannis's nose winces at the acknowledgement of the liquor. But some tension is relieved when he finds the goblet is nothing magic-related. 

"A wed man that sleeps seperately with his wife," Melisandre's gaze roams around the room. "Unless you have Lady Catelyn hidden somewhere here. In that case come on out, my lady. We have no secrets here." She laughs as she lays down the cup on a table. 

Stannis narrows his eye. "You think you are such a clever and jeering woman, Melisandre." 

Melisandre drops her sacarsm and gives Stannis a serious look. "Yes, so clever that you did not consult me with your marriage plan." 

Stannis clenches his jaw and turns away from his priestess. "Ser Davos and I think it is for the best." 

"Davos Seaworth is a smuggler." 

"Ser Davos is the hand of your king!" He faces the woman and before he realises he is shouting at her. 

"Yes," Mesliandre says quietly, "But a mortal man no less, a man whose mind is shallow and vision so short he cannot look into the future as my Lord of Lights can." 

To that Stannis has little words to say. He does not doubt her ability to obtain visions and foresee upcoming events. She promised him the deaths of the three usurpers and one by one they died. He believes in her power, although not particularly in her god whom she claims she acquires her magic from. 

"You were married in the sight of the seven." Upon his silence Melisandre seems to have more to add to her list of accusations.

"Yes, according to the faith that Lady Catelyn herself follows." Stannis replies in dismay. He feels interrogated and he likes the notion no less than seeing Tommen Baratheon on his throne. He turns away from the priestess, reluctant to look at her eyes. 

"Why, my king," Her tone sounds of sadness and disappointment. "When you clearly know they are plainly man made idols with no real power?" 

"I will not drag her into this madness of yours, the way you had with my previous wife." Stannis creases his brows and waves in annoyance, putting an end to this discussion.

Melisandre goes around and rests her hands on Stannis's chest. This time Stannis stands still. He knows she can feel his beating heart racing under his doublet. He closes his eyes and calms his breathing. After a long while Melisandre pulls away from him. He watches as she lifts up the goblet again.

"However, the deed is done. My king will put a son in his wife." She takes a light sip of her wine. 

"No." Stannis says decisively, tightening his fists.

"My king will put a son in his wife," She repeats, taking another small sip, her eyes locked on his. "It is your duty as a husband." 

"I will not rape her," He grinds his teeth. "It lacks honor." 

"Then win her over," Melisandre walks up to him and wraps her arms around his neck, "Make her come to you willingly just as I to you." 

She kisses him on his mouth. His lips burn as if they are on fire.

***************

It is easier said than done. Stannis has no experience whatsoever in making a woman to fall for him. He never finds the required skill necessary. He is highborn, and ever since he was a little boy he knew he will be betrothed one day to another highborn lady. There is no need and no room for him to be charismatic. Unlike Robert whose talent in flirting comes naturally, Stannis finds it very awkward to speak of romance. The entire gesture sounds alien and superfluous to him. His first marriage to Selyse Florent had little requirement for romance. He performed his duty on their wedding night and deflowered the girl. He knew the procedure from reading books and from overhearing Robert boasting of his great achievements from time to time. He would not say the process was enjoyable but no less, a daughter was born of his wife. It was a dull marriage. When Selyse died of a fever Stannis did not even weep. He felt nothing. He and his late wife were strangers, two people who shared a daughter and no more. He did not expect his next marriage to be any different. He did not even think of the idea of putting a son in Catelyn. He wed her because of the title, and she wed him because of his army. The marriage is a political one. He is expecting a loveless marriage between them, with the formal titles the only thing that could relate and bound them together. But he understands. He is a king and he has no heir. The Baratheon male bloodline will extinct if he has any lethal encounter in the battlefield. Catelyn has proven herself more than capable, giving the late Lord Eddard three sons and two daughters. She is still young, so it is well within her capability to provide him with a son. 

He has missed the golden opportunity to directly obtain what he needs now on their wedding night, where it is a man's duty to share the bed with his wife and plant his seeds in her. He knows for certain Catelyn would have honored the tradition without the need of him asking for it, since she herself also shares the duty of a wife to allow her new husband his access on that night. However, the chance came and gone. He must considers the alternatives. He thought of simply confronting her and explaining his situation. But the idea of him requesting such thing from a high born lady seems ridiculously embarrassing and he knows he would rather jump off a cliff in Dragonstone than to ever open his mouth and ask. Rape is out of the question. Even the slightest thought of rape makes the hair on the back of his hand stand. He would not dishonor a widow and a mother. Nonetheless, the act itself lacks moral and decency. It is a monstrous behaviour and only uncivilised barbarians could allow themselves to perform such horrible doings onto others. 

With no other solutions in mind Stannis comes to the conclusion that he indeed needs to 'win her over', quoting Melisandre's exact wordings. He does not have much time to accomplish his mission, however. The Baratheon army is set to leave Winterfell a month later and head off to the Dreadfort where they will meet with the Boltons in battle. Although as promised he will leave a fifth of his force here in Winterfell for protection, it is highly unlikely that Lady Catelyn would follow him into a war and abandon her children who are so young and still in need of their mother. This leaves him with merely one month to find a way into his wife's bed, consensual of course. 

Easier said than done.


	3. Catelyn I

Catelyn is exhausted. It has been a rough night with Stannis rudely barging out at supper and Rickon being exceptionally tearful and Bran unwilling to eat his food. It was as if all the men in her new life have decided to go against her together and give her a hard time. She expected her husband to understand and empathise with her children for he himself is a father as well. But the stern man looked at her children as if they were vermin. She forgot that Stannis has probably never held his daughter in his arms and experienced the joy of raising a child of his own. She cannot quite imagine Stannis being a loving and caring father. She blames herself for foolishly believing that he actually cares for anyone except himself. His speech in which he inferred himself as a family-loving man is merely empty words designed to persuade her agreement to the marriage. It is Stannis Baratheon she is dealing with, what did she expect, that he would suddenly bears great love for her children and treasures them as much as he treasures his throne? But it is true that his force could protect her children from their foes. For that she is grateful and she has no more complains as long as Stannis does not cause any harm to her family.

The time is late and Catelyn is preparing to sleep. She has undressed herself and is therefore surprised when she hears a knock. She finds it strange that anyone would come to her at this hour of the night. Will it be her children looking for their mother for bedtime stories and warm hugs? Then she bitterly remembers it could neither be Bran or Rickon who are both unable to leave their bed and travel all the way to her chamber on their own, and her other children are either dead or missing. It brings her great sorrow that she does not even have the body of her eldest son to bury. He belongs in the crypt with his father and ancestors. The young wolf, invincible in battles, and died in a wedding. The Lannisters did not even have the decency to return his bones. Instead they cut his head off and sewn on his direwolf's. It was brutal, even for a Lannister. When she first heard of the news she thought the messenger was making a joke, a cruel one. She struck the poor boy until Ser Rodrick pulled her away, screaming and kicking with tears rolling off her eyes. And Sansa, oh her Sansa, always a lady with gentle speech and graceful moves. Her best hope of survival is if she has escaped with the Imp. The small and deformed man is cunning and greedy but he has a cautious mind and a tender heart. She would not dare to even think of the possible outcomes if Sansa falls again into the claws of the lions for there is only one: It would be the end of her precious daughter, the one who believes in fairy tales and dreams of gallant knights and heroes. As for Arya, Catelyn has but very little hope. She has been missing for almost a year and the odds are not in her favour. Even a strong and fierce girl like her is still a little girl, and this world has never been merciful to lonely young girls. Catelyn has prayed to the gods for the safety of her children. She knelt in front of the altar and begged to the Mother. She would have knelt for so long the skin on her knees would break and bleed, but the Mother never answers, neither did the old god. She went to the godwood once and sat under the heart tree as she had seen Ned did many times. She whispered her prayers but the old god only sent her chills and cold winds. There seemed to be horrid beasts looming in the dark with their shadows peeking out behind the pale branches. It was an eerie feeling to be surrounded by ancient trees with strange faces carved on the barks. She wonders how Ned or anyone who follows the old god found peace and comfort in an environment as dark and creepy as this. She felt unwelcome in these woods and told herself never to return again. 

Catelyn wipes off a drop of tear hanging on her cheek and puts on her robe. 

"Who is it?" She pulls out a dagger hidden under her bed as she voices her demand. The dagger is designed for her to defend herself from any potential threat, for she has been alarmingly alert with intruders since the attempted assassination of Bran. 

"Stannis, my lady." A tired voice replies behind the wooden door. 

"Stannis?" Catelyn is shocked. Her husband would be the last person on her mind that could possibly have a reason to come to her at night. What is his matter so urgent that he cannot wait till morrow? Nonetheless, a wife does not turn her husband away. She puts away her dagger and rushes to open the door, although rather unpassionately, and sees the big man standing outside her chamber looking as serious as ever.

Stannis blinks at her and for a split second she thought she sees a flash of tenderness behind the man's scorching eyes but that moment fades and he starts grinding his teeth again like a threaten bull. 

"Please, come in." Catelyn invites him, her voice dry with a hint of timidness, in which she was not aware of and immediately dislikes.

Stannis crosses the threshold and enters her chamber. His walks to the middle of the room and stops. His dark eyes scan through the space as if he is searching for assassins with sharp blades in their hands waiting to jump out on him. Catelyn is displeased with the way he mistrusts her. He behaves in a fashion that he is expecting his wife, her, Catelyn Tully, to be planning on murdering him with a gruesome death. This man's insecurity will surely drive the people around him crazy. No wonders that even Renly had more supporters than him. The youngest Baratheon is just a treat when standing next to his older brother. Stannis should at least have the decency or the manner of a well-educated man to pretend he is not unhappy to be where he is. With this unpleasant thought in mind, she closes the door with a force slightly harder than usual. Stannis turns to her at the sound of the bang. His eyes find hers and quickly he drops his gaze onto her body. His lips twitch in distaste and his brows crease deeply at the state of her: clearly underdressed according to his standard. A bud of fury blooms inside Catelyn along with her already existing irritation. Who does this man think he is, to come into her chamber unwanted so late at night and expects the hostess to wear anything more than her sleeping gown? However, as a wife she should not cross her husband, not in an obvious manner at least. She shall maintain the behaviour of a high born lady. 

"Yes?" Catelyn asks with impatience. She crosses her arms to cover her 'overexposure'. 

"Just a husband wishing to check on his wife." Stannis straightens his back and lifts his chin with his hands held behind him. Rigidly he smiles at her.

Catelyn almost laughs, but stops herself as it would be impolite and she has learnt how strongly her husband feels towards people laughing at him. She has seen green boys in her youth done better in flirting than Stannis Baratheon. Even Petyr at the age of ten has a better chance of charming anyone than Stannis, a full man grown. She knows the tricks for they are all the same old ones: smile often, express care, appear handsome and strong; only it is plain clear that Stannis lacks practice in all of them. His smile is so forced it seems as if he has a toothache, very unlikely for any lady to be charmed by that, she decides. His voice when he says his words of regards sounds bored and lacks genuine interest. It is apparent he is not accustomed to the gesture. He has held his chin way too high for the liking of any lady. It only serves to make him look arrogant and impossible to please. His attempt to look attractive has made him look rather unattractive. He may as well quit trying and go back to his normal self. However, she knows her honest opinions will not help him to his cause. Speaking of which, why would he bother? The young boys, she understands. They wished to claim her as their own: the maiden daughter of the Lord of Riverrun, so pure and innocent every lad would love to gain her affection. Even a return of her smile would suffice to send their hearts fluttering. Only that she was not as pure and innocent as she appeared to be. The way she used to toy with Petyr, playing these kissing games behind father, has long stripped her of her purity and innocence. She regrets her actions, wishing if she could amend her doings she would, and maybe the boy would not have to suffer. But Stannis is not Petyr. He has the right family name and is already her husband in marriage. He has no need of flattery for he has no more to gain from her.

"I am well," She replies carefully, "And you, Stannis?"

Confusion rises up on his face, but is quickly swept away by the once again stone cold seriousness: he is not used to hearing his given name from another, Catelyn is not surprised by that at all. An authoritative man of his status with so little if any friends as himself is of course not referred often to his first name, for it would be too -- intimate. She cannot imagine Stannis being intimate with anyone. There are rumors regarding the red priestess sharing the warmth of his bed. Catelyn knows little of the red woman but she thinks she knows Stannis enough to determine him a dignified man who would not bed another woman as long as he is wed. He seems the kind that would defend his and his family's honor until his very last breath. She also does not see Stannis as a lustful creature. He seems uninterested in women, like his elder brother, or in men, like his younger brother. He seems generally uninterested in humans or in the forming of proper, loving relationships. It sounds absurd that Stannis would invite his red pristess into his bed at all. But Catelyn has been wrong with her observations before. Wars can do weird things to men, to make them forget about their honor and pursue recklessly of what lies ahead. Nevertheless, even if the rumors are true and the red woman is indeed sharing his bed, she doubts if he would allow her to call him by his name. Even his most trusted companion and supporter Davos Seaworth would surely prefer to refer him according to his multiple grand titles. Catelyn has met the onion knight and believes him to be too humble and subtle to allow himself to sit as equally as high as Stannis on a social ladder and call him directly by name. With his brothers dead Catelyn does not think anyone in the seven kingdoms would be familiar enough with Stannis to be on first-name basis. But if Stannis naively thinks that Catelyn would call him anything but his given name then he has never been so wrong. Catelyn holds no feelings other than respect for her husband, but she will not call him by his titles, not if she can help it.

"Good, my lady." Stannis finally says. He avoids her eyes and his gaze roams again around the room in a rather frantic manner, which makes him appear to be a scared little boy. Catelyn then realises the man is expressing his invulnerability, although involuntarily, with his over cautiousness in an unfamiliar territory. She immediately feels guilty and ashamed for treating him with hostility when she misread his insecurity for mistrust. 

"I am glad to hear, Stannis." She produces the sweetest smile she could manage in the current circumstances. Stannis seems a bit unsure to her sudden change of attitude. "What can I do for you?" 

Stannis looks away and stares at the floor. Although he tries to hide it, his eyes have already betrayed him of his nervousness, making Catelyn even more curious of his intention. It is strange to see a man who is usually so full of himself acting like he is about to walk into a battlefield naked and unequipped with a sword. Stannis, as if determined, turns to her again with sharp eyes and his fist held up around his waist. But a quick exchange of eye contact and she knows he has lost his courage. He lowers his arm and the prior determination in his face vanishes. 

"N--Nothing, my lady." Stannis says, deflated. He lets out an unintentional sigh and he smoothly hides it with a cough, which still fails to escape from Catelyn's sensitive ears. "I shall leave you to your rest, my lady." He bows and eagerly motions towards the door like a wounded animal running back to its cave with its tail between its legs after a lost fight. He puts his hand on the door and without turning his head he says, "I will see you in the morning," After a long pause he adds, the volume of his voice as small as if he is talking to himself, "Cat." 

He opens the door and squeezes through the ridiculously thin gap he made as if he cannot stand to stay any longer in the room to have the door opened wider and further, then he disappears in the darkness of the hallway. Catelyn giggles at the sight and swiftly but quietly she leans against the wooden door. She hears a whining moan and some frustrated grunting along with the distancing sound of Stannis's footsteps. This brings a light smile to Catelyn's face.

She moves to the bed and peels off her robe. She blows out the candle on the bedside table, engulfing herself in the dark of night. She crawls under the quilt and closes her eyes as she thinks, what an odd man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the length of time between updates, and also for the quality of this chapter. The plot of this chapter seems rather 'forced' to me and I am deeply sorry if you find it not to your liking.


	4. Catelyn II

"Food!" Rickon yells out joyfully when the servants bring out their breakfast: boiled eggs with slices of rasher bacon and fresh hot bread straight from the oven accompanied by a pot of honey. Catelyn smiles at her youngest. The boy must be hungry since he did not do much eating but crying last night. She pours her sons each a full cup of orange juice but only a cup of water for herself. It is better to save the nutritious resource for her growing boys.

She looks at Bran with worried eyes. He has become such a skinny boy after his fall. The red in his hair has turned almost to a light brown and he has not grown taller since the time she left Winterfell in search for the Imp. Maester Luwin said he is still traumatised by the incident and he has been having these odd dreams at night that disturb his sleep. It is a mother's worst nightmare to see her children suffer and know there is absolutely nothing that could be done to make them better. Rickon, on the other hand, although still as willful and untamed as he is, stays healthy and grows stronger everyday. He is hurriedly making himself busy with the bread as he tears it apart with his clumsy little hands. 

"You should try to eat something, Bran." Catelyn tests, spreading honey onto Bran's piece of bread. Her tone sounds painfully like a plea. 

"I am not hungry, mother." Bran says, his eyes hollow as he sits on his chair staring blankly at the food placed in front of him. The big and tall seat has made him seem even smaller and thinner than he already is. 

"You need to eat." Catelyn switches to a more authoritative voice. She will force him to take in his meal if this is what it takes. She will not let his son starve inside these protected walls.

Bran sighs, like an irritated old man. "Fine." He picks up his fork and starts cutting into his bacon, ignoring the bread his mother has made him. 

Catelyn is satisfied by his son finally eating something but is displeased with his attitude. When she opens her mouth and is prepared to scold him into having some proper manner the door is slammed open. She glances up and sees Stannis walking in, one of his men trailing behind him holding a box. She rises as he approaches. Stannis orders his man to leave the box and wait outside. Then he turns to his wife, his expression complex and hard to read. 

"Mother, why is he here?" Rickon whispers as he abandons his breakfast and hides behind his mother's legs, looking up nervously at Stannis with watery eyes. 

"My lady," Stannis greets her, slightly bowing. She is not sure if he has missed her son's rudeness or if he has decided to ignore it. She secretly hopes it is the former. "Brandon, Rickon." He nods at each of them as he says coldly, as if he is only muttering meaningless words instead of the names of her children.

"Stannis." Brandon says unfondly, laying down his fork. He creases his brows and glares at Stannis, who returns his glare with similar level of distaste.

"I am surprised to see you, Stannis." Catelyn quickly says to avoid the situation from deteriorating. "What can I do for you?" 

Stannis turns back to his wife as if he just remembered his reason to be here. He picks up the box and presents it to her. "A gift. I had my tailor made it last night." 

Catelyn raises her eyebrow. She is stunned. A gift from Stannis, how unbelievable does that sounds. Probably not many people in the seven kingdoms could brag of receiving a present from Stannis, a man of solemn and refrained nature. Rickon forgets his fear and moves back to the table to have a closer look at the box. Curious as ever, he urges, tweaking the ribbon on the box. "Open it, mother!" His voice excited as if he is the one to receive the gift. 

"It won't be polite to unveil something so beautifully wrapped in front of the sender." She shoots Stannis an uncertain look as she covers her son's hand with hers. Gods, why is she so nervous? It is not like she has never received a gift from another man before. 

"It is alright by me." Stannis nods at her, encouraging her to go on. Is it just her or does he look as nervous as she is? 

Shakingly, she unties the ribbons and removes the lid of the box. A glistering bright blue catches her eyes. A dress, made of silk. She pulls out the whole garment and it waves in the air elegantly. The fabric is soft and smooth to touch. The colour is vital but not too bright to be deemed inappropriate. The whole dress is finer than anything she has ever gotten in her life and she was the daughter of the Lord of Riverrun and the wife to the Lord of Winterfell. The dress is perfectly made, seemingly a piece of work done in days or months, sounding impossible for a tailor to have it sowed and stitched in just a night. 

"Do you find it to your liking?" Stannis asks, looking at her with an unusual intensity of interest. "I think it brings out the colour in your eyes." He adds, almost shyly.

"It is beautiful," Catelyn answers, taken aback by how he has taken note of the colour of her eyes. "Please give my appreciation to your tailor."

For the first time since his arrival in Winterfell Stannis seems relaxed. He even allows himself a small grin. More and more rare things are happening today. "Aye. Poor man, cut his hand multiple times." Stannis says, his voice suggesting an unguarded easiness that has never occurred to him before. "I shouted at him saying if there was any delay--" He abruptly stops. A sharp intake of breath and he continues, the easiness in his voice gone and replaced by the usual flatness and boredom. "I should not distract my lady with the injury of a common man. My apology." 

"Not at all," Catelyn says, slightly disappointed. She is actually interested in what he said to his tailor. But she knows he will not speak any more of the man. "W-Would you stay for breakfast?" Remembering her septa's teaching when she was still a little girl has driven her into sending out the invitation, although she has an inkling Stannis would refuse. And she is right. Stannis shakes his head and says, "I should not disrupt your valuable family time. I shall take my leave now, my lady." 

When Stannis is gone, Bran turns to her and pulls out his 'lordly' voice. "Why did you ask him to stay?" 

Catelyn sighs. "It is called manner, Bran. You will need to learn it as the Lord of Winterfell." 

"Well I am glad Stannis did not stay." Bran crosses his arms. "He scares Rickon." 

"Don't call him by his name." Catelyn scolds. "He is your step-father." 

"I am not calling him 'father'," Brandon squints his eyes at the door that Stannis exited. "I never will." A short pause. "Why are you replacing father?"

"I am not!" Catelyn squeaks. He is too young to understand. "His army will protect you and Rickon from--" 

"I don't care about his army!" Bran shouts af his mother. He slams his fist onto the table causing Rickon to gasp. "You married another man. You are replacing father. That's what you are doing!" 

"Brandon Stark!" Catelyn barks at her son as she stands from her seat, furious. She did not raise her children to challenge their parents. 

Bran wants to stand as well, forgetting he can no longer move his legs. As he pops himself up with his straighten arms on the table his muscle fails to support his whole body. He falls like a broken doll, lying on the ground motionless and fragile. 

"No." Bran says when Catelyn immediately moves to help her son off the floor. Catelyn stops at a feet away from him, wounded. He stares at a particular spot ahead and is reluctant to look at his mother. "Hodor!" 

"Hodor!" The strong stable boy comes out from the kitchen as he declares his entrance, waddling his way to his lord. 

"Bring me to my chamber, Hodor. I am tired." Bran says, though the loudness of his voice suggesting otherwise. 

"Hodor!" Hodor picks up the boy easily as if he weighs nothing. "Hodor!" He stamps across the hall with Bran in his arms, hodor-ing all along. 

"Mother..." Rickon says very softly, his voice trembling. He pulls at the skirt of her mother, who is standing still like a statue. 

"Just finish your breakfast, Rickon." Catelyn forbids a droplet of tear from sliding down her cheek and sits back down, looking at the slice of bacon Bran had cut but yet to eat. 

***************

When she is finally alone in her chamber Catelyn pulls out the dress from the box and takes in the whole view of it. 'Beautiful' is clearly an understatement. The dress is radiant, glowing among all her other dull-coloured clothing. This is a magnificent gown to be worn by queens and princesses, certainly not by a widow as she is. She is suddenly aware she is comparing herself with a dress and has even decided she is not worthy of it. She teases herself for the silly thought. Then she realises she is indeed a queen now, being the wife to Stannis Baratheon. It feels so strange: one second ago she was a widow and a second later she has magically transformed into the queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Only there was no magical transformation. She is still who she is. A mere change of title has no real effect on her just as calling a sheep a horse will not change the fact it is still a sheep. She was still denying Stannis's claim as the rightful king before he walked, or marched into Winterfell, for justifying him as king is equivalent to calling her own son an usurper, a word no mother would wish to associate their son with. But denial did not work. She knew all along that Robb's claim as the King in the North was as weak as Renly's as the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Of course all mothers would love to have their family by their sides, to keep them safe. But she was afraid keeping Robb safe would be holding him back. Therefore she let go, and rode back to Winterfell to be with her youngest children. Was it a mistake to leave her first born? She tried to imagine Robb's feeling when he was to die alone with no close family members around. The pain. The loneliness. The helplessness. Would his last thought be gladness, gladness that he had sent his mother away, knowing she has escaped his fate? Or was he angry that she has abandoned him and has allowed him to ride into a war that he could never return from? Before she comes into her own realisation, she has been standing still, her fingers gripping tightly of the dress with her mind lost in saddening thoughts. She determines her day is not to be ruined by the past as she forces a smile on her lips, although there is no one around she could flash it to to show how well she is. 

Catelyn lays the dress on her bed, running her fingers down the smooth fabric to straighten the crease she made. It would be terrible if there are nail marks to be left behind. She is instantly relieved when she cannot find any. She guesses she should try it on, and is amazed when the ankle-length dress fits her perfectly. She stares at herself in front of the looking glass, awed by how young she now seems. Stannis is right. The garment indeed brings out the colour of her eyes. Her eyes now shimmer brightly, the tiredness and weariness disappeared without a trace. She even has a faint resemblance of the young and joyful girl she once was, the girl who loved dancing and singing at the riverbank, watching as the gentle water flowed down the stream. 

It is bizarre that Stannis gave her this gift. It is so unlike something he would do. Perhaps the man is more attentive than she gave him credit for. She had imagined him to be more like... Ned, just as serious with matters but lacks the warmth her first husband had. However, she did not discover Ned's warmth until months after their marriage. Through their exchange of letters when he was helping with Robert's war she had grown to admire him, worship him even. Ned never understood women's appreciation for pretty things, and it had never occurred to him to gift Catelyn anything. She knew he would have showered her with jewels and dresses if she asked, but the best part of receiving gifts is the acknowledgement that someone out there knows what she wants without even asking. Perhaps she has underestimated Stannis. Perhaps she has judged him too quickly based on his appearance and reputation. Perhaps he is more sophisticated than she has thought him to be. 

Catelyn peels herself off the finery and changes back into her normal clothes. She has the dress carefully folded before putting it in her wardrobe. Then she sits on the edge of her bed with her hands clad on her laps. Could she... could she learn how to love Stannis just as she has learnt how to love Ned? Her relationship with Ned did not bloom in one night. Relationship takes time to brew. She imagines her marriage with Ned would have been cold if she did not give him a chance to prove himself, and she has not given much chance lately to Stannis to prove himself either. But could she, lay her heart out there again for a man and give him her love, especially when it is Stannis Baratheon, a man with a bad reputation in the maintaining of loving relationships? Or is she, as shallow and despicable as the notion is, replacing Ned just as Bran has accused her of? 

Catelyn shuts her eyes, and dismisses the topic when her head starts to ache.


	5. Stannis III

"You were right," Stannis comments as he sips at his salted water, eyeing the red woman standing across the room with the usual Dornish red in her hands. "She seemed more than pleased."       

Melisandre chuckles as she comes and sits next to him, maybe slightly closer than he expected her to. "Of course," She smiles wickedly, her lips curling into a charming but sinister curve. Stannis thinks his heart stopped pounding for a second. "She is a woman, my king, and women adore the generosity of men." She reaches out a hand and her fingers start climbing up his neck, finally resting around his earlobe. The process is painfully slow and he is uncomfortably aware of her every touch. His first instinct is to back away, for pushing her would be too impudent. Instead, he chooses to stay still. She has made herself useful with her advice around the current subject, and she is the only one he could turn to with Davos's absence.                      

"What about you?" Stannis says between his breaths. It is his best attempt to appear unmoved and solid. 

Melisandre lets out a laugh, a sound that oddly does not seem offensive to Stannis. She stands up and gulps down her wine. The sourness of the smell is so strong as if he is drinking the liquor himself. The place around his neck feels strangely cold and empty without her fingers on it. "Yes, I am a woman, my king." She smirks, looking at him from above. He never noticed how perfect her face is, as if it is sketched and coloured on carefully by a skilled painter.        

"So you as well enjoy the generosity of men?" Stannis asks, instantly feeling foolish of his question. Where is this meaningless conversation heading to? What are they even discussing about?       

"A different kind of generosity, I would say." She puts away her goblet and narrows her eyes at him, not in a hostile fashion but in an intrigued one. "Perhaps my king has experience of it...?" Her voice trails off into a soft whisper.       

Without warning she moves and sits on his laps. Stannis jumps on his seat and accidentally lets go of his cup of water. The metal container hits the floor in a clank and rolls around in circle in the spillage of the clear liquid until it comes to a rest. Then Stannis freezes, feeling the weight of Melisandre on his legs. It is not like she is heavy or anything. He can easily lift her up if he wants to. But again, it would be... impudent. He sits, eyes widen staring at her, whose smile comes so easily in contrast to his nervousness he has tried so hard to conceal but is still leaking to the world through his panting.      

"Hush now, my king." She presses a finger onto his lips when he is about to protest. She is so close to him he could feel the rhythm of her breathing. "You must get used to this."          

Now this is getting ridiculous. "Used to what? Used to you on my laps?" He rasps, his voice hoarse. Anger rises within him. He feels toyed. He feels she has taken charge of him too easily as if he has gone down without even a fight. 

"No," Melisandre says, rubbing his shoulders gently with her hands. Somehow he wishes her gone already. He hates looking up at her like this. He has spent too much time in his life looking up at others. "Used to touches, my king." She rests her elbows on his broad shoulders.          

"I am." Stannis concludes, although his tone has betrayed him of his doubts.                

"Not like this." Her smile grows wide. She takes his hands and guides them to her waist. He has a strong urge to withdraw but he casts it away. This woman obviously knows what she is doing. He places his hands around her thin frame, her waist hot to his cool palms.            

"My king must not be afraid of a woman's body."           

"I am not afraid." Stannis says sternly, tightening his fingers around her, proving his point.           

The red woman cups his face with her hands. Stannis turns his head, flinching away from her, feeling a line has just been crossed without his permission.           

"My king is afraid." Melisandre murmurs worriedly, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones.                   

Stannis gives her a glare that would scare away almost every man. But Melisandre is no man. She returns his glare with a michevious glance. "It is a husband's duty to know how to please his wife." She leans forward and leaves a brief kiss on his temple. The contact is so short he is yet to come up with a proper reaction and she is gone, standing up and moving away from him. She refills her cup, leaving Stannis sitting short-breathed and confused.                

"Lady Catelyn will come to you today." Melisandre says as she is pouring her wine. "You must be prepared."                   

"How could you be sure?" Stannis asks between his deep intakes of breaths designed to calm himself.                   

The woman glances up at him and he sees something similar to pity in her eyes. He condemns himself for behaving so ignorantly in this sort of field. He clenches his jaw and prohibits a groan arising from the back of his throat that is threatening to turn into a snarl.                       

"Have I ever been wrong, my king?" She drinks from her wine, eyeing him over the edge of her cup. "Just wait and see." Her voice sounds smothered.                

***************          

Wait he did. He sat in his chamber, flipping through an old book he found in one of the shelves. He did not exactly know what the book was about for his mind was somewhere else. There were a lot of other things he could think of that were more meaningful that plain sitting. He watched the sky went dark and felt the air turned cold. He was about to drift into a doze when he heard someone at his door.        

The knock startles him. He frantically stands up and rushes to the door but almost trips himself over the chair. He curses himself in his head as he straightens his doublet and fixes his hair, whatever there is left of it, trying to make himself presentable.       

"Lady Catelyn," he greets, and realises his voice is still in his usual carefree coldness.  _What did Melisandre say about greetings again? Tender tone and easy gesture, was it?_  "What a nice surprise of you to come by." He feels hypocritical delivering the phrase. He has been waiting all afternoon for her arrival. Melisandre is right again, it seems. He holds a mixed feeling towards the red woman's unnaturally accurate prediction.        

"I have to express my gratitude for you gift," Catelyn says softly to her husband. "It is too much, Stannis. The dress is gorgeous. I--" She pauses and hesitates for a moment. "Are you going to invite me in?"        

  
_Damn it, Stannis,_ Stannis yells at himself in his mind,  _can you please get hold of the situation before you completely ruin it?_  "Oh, please, my lady. My apology." He moves his body away and lifts out an arm as a sign of welcome. He has never quite mastered the art of hospitality. He seldom spends time alone with anyone except for Davos and Melisandre. If he needs to see Davos the meeting is usually held in the great hall in Dragonstone where there is no door to knock on and the onion knight always arrives before he does.  _Smugglers have an old habit of being extremely punctual, you grace_ , Stannis remembers he once said,  _a second of delay and the customer goes to another smuggler, which will hurt your business if you are not careful enough_. As for Melisandre, well the red woman always invites herself in, without the fuss of opening doors and exchange of words at the threshold. In other times Stannis has his squire to open the door for him. But Melisandre said it is better to be in solitude when Lady Catelyn goes to him, which Stannis agrees to be wise for it will only add to the awkwardness if a squire is present in a private meeting such as this.           

"How do you find your quarter?" Catelyn asks casually as she walks to the centre of his chamber.

Stannis closes the door in a click and locks his eyes on Catelyn's spine, watching as she picks up and examines the book he was 'reading'. He reminds himself not to be too upset with the fact she has her back on a king when they are talking. He breathes out slowly, smoothing out his irritation.  

"It is great, my lady." He does not know what other response to give. He in fact is not entirely used to the strange surrounding: the air too chilly, the curtains too thin, the bed too soft. But it would be disrespectful to make complaints about someone else's home under their roof.  

Catelyn turns and raises one of her eyebrows at him, as if she knows he is holding his real opinions back. "Stannis," she sings, the way his name slips through her lips still sounding too unfamiliar and suspicious to him, especially when she lingers on the word. "Winterfell is as much as your home as it is mine now. You do realise you are the protector of this place until Bran comes of age, yes?" 

To be frank Stannis did not realise. If one is already the king of all Seven Kingdoms then what good does it do to also be the Protector of Winterfell? Doesn't the former outcast the latter? The logic is lost to him, but again, he holds his tongue.  

"Believe me, my lady, I have been in harsher situations." He says solemnly, hinting his horrible experience during the siege of Storm's End where they had to munch on wood furniture to keep themselves from biting their own fingers. Stannis has since been fairly undemanding regarding the environment he lives in. Unlike many other highborn, comfort is a luxury to him and not a necessity. If one can survive with what one has then one ought to be grateful and be quiet about it.  

"This castle has served me well as a temporary shelter, before my departure," Stannis says, his mood slightly uplifted, as he offers to pour a cup of wine for Catelyn who graciously refuses. "Off to battle again, to defend your family's honor." Remembering something, he adds bitterly. He is unaware when he clutches his fingers tighter at the grip of the silver flagon, forgetting his role to play as the gallant husband Melisandre has told him to play for the night.    

" _Your_  family now, Stannis." Catelyn comments, her voice soft as silk. "Your step-sons are Starks and so am I--"    

"Not anymore." Stannis barks and slams the flagon onto the table, rigidly turning his head away from his wife, refusing to register the hurt in her eyes. What is the matter with him? He is acting as boldly as Robert and he loathes himself for it. He grew up watching Robert behaving recklessly and selfishly, always making a fool out of himself. Stannis has sworn to become the exact opposite to his older brother. He does not whore, drink, or rebel. But yet everyone worshiped the older Baratheon and forgot the younger one. It would have driven him crazy with jealousy if he lacks the sense of control he prides himself for. And now his brother has finally ceased to create chaos, still no one has turned to respect him. They choose to overthrow him and make a nine years old boy king, as if the child (who is not even a true Baratheon) could possibly rule better than him and possess a more refined judgement. He is a better man than his brother and is a better king. Yet, he is now being as rude as Robert was, treating his lady with unkindness. 

Stannis presses his lips together, knowing he should o do something to console his wife, to apologise for what he said, to make up for it, to caress... The idea of intimate physical contact is disturbing. His muscle tenses up at the notion as he resists the want to squirm. However, compensation is needed. He approaches Catelyn and notes the way she shifts her body ever so slightly away as to distant herself from him. "My lady..." He stops and his hand unconsciously reaches out to touch the leather cover of the book lying on his desk, as if having something in his grip would boost his confidence and make things better. "Cat, I meant," He corrects himself, forbidding his eyes from turning away from his wife, manipulating his tone to appear soothing and soft. "You are a Baratheon now. I have taken you under my protection," He pauses, feeling something is amiss. "And your sons, of course."  

"Will you treat them as your own?"  

Stannis blinks at Catelyn, off guard.  _Melisandre has not prepared me for this_ , he thinks. What is he supposed to say, that he will love them as much as he loves her daughter? This response is weak, for sure. He does not hold strong affection for the sickly child, not really. He only feels obliged for her security and protection, or at most, sympathetic towards her, for being cursed with grey scale, for losing her mother so early, for being... his. He was absent for the majority of the childhood of his daughter, often far away in King's Landing serving Robert in his small council as the Master of Law, and it is very likely he wiyll remain absent as well in her youth and adulthood, that is if the girl is fortunate enough to live that long.  _What do I know about love anyway_ , he mocked himself often when he asked Ser Davos about his wife and witnessed the care in the man's eyes. He never had much fondness for people even as a small boy. He did not quite understand why would anyone need anyone when a human could live off with sustenance such as food, water, shelter and warmth. Then later as he grew up he started to understand the reasons to be wed, realising the vows are merely words you say to get the ceremony over and done with and the importance of the whole event is to join houses and share their wealth and power. His marriage with Selyse was perfectly fine, in his opinion. He even thought it was the best pairing out of the three Baratheons marriages: one ended in mutual hatred and one ended up childless. At least he had a daughter from Selse so he has completed the duty of a husband. But he guesses that is not enough, not in this marriage. He now needs to be passionate for his wife, and apparently her children as well, which sounds impossible to accomplish for he suspects the boys secretly (or openly) resent him, for stepping into their lives and marrying their precious mother. His honest answer to Catelyn's question will certainly only result in more misunderstanding. Therefore, he lies. 

"Of course I will." The words roll off his tongues not utterly without difficulty. 

Catelyn sighs, then chuckles, which seems bizarre to Stannis.

"I have every reason to believe you, your grace. A wife should trust her husband as he her. I think I would take that wine now, please." She abruptly adds.

Stannis is unmistakably lost. He shakes his confusion away as he moves to pour the wine, at least that he knows how to do. Catelyn takes the cup in her hands and drains it all down in quick continuous gulps. Stannis can't help but stare at her, creasing his brows and wincing his nose. He self-admittedly is prejudicial towards those who drink their wine in haste. It reminds him too much of Robert: the memory of his brother consuming the liquor in barrels instead of cups while laughing hysterically with a young girl on his laps is an unpleasant one. He thought Lady Catelyn is a woman with better sense than his brother, or perhaps he is simply over-reacting. He chooses to believe in the latter and pretends she did not do what she did.  

"You are a honest man, you know." Catelyn sighs. "You cannot lie, even if you want to." 

Stannis avoids her gaze, staring at a specific point on the ground. He knows his little act has failed quite miserably. "What will you have me do then, my lady." He moans. Then he immediately bites on his lips, thinking he has exposed himself quite enough and has retrieved nothing from his wife who is obviously a master in concealing herself.  

"Please just be plain honest with me. I am tired." Catelyn says, walking towards Stannis, her tone the sincerest he has ever heard from her. He reluctantly locks eyes with her, blue on blue, both showing equivalent level of weariness. "I don't know what you are playing here, but it has been confusing. I simply wish I am not misinterpreting your real intention, if you have one, by following your misleading clues."  

"And what might my intention be?" 

"That you want to care."

"I am not a bloody animal," Stannis grinds his teeth as he raises his voice, feeling the wave of humiliation rushing inside him. He is a king. This woman is bold, too bold for her own good. "I care about a great lot of things."  

"Your throne. Your name. Your honor." Did I miss any?" Catelyn calmly rebuts, her eyes ice cold with dismay. 

"I care for my duty. And so should you, woman." Stannis is so furious the words just leaked from his mouth. He immediately realises they are toxic to this marriage he has wished so hard to manage. But he cannot care less. With his storming rage, he is blinded and is acting on his impulsiveness. 

"How dare you, ser." Catelyn snaps and points a dangerous finger at him, her whole figure trembling. 

"Don't you 'ser' me. I am a king and one day I will make you suffer for this."  

Stannis storms out of his chamber, feeling something has just crumbled inside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am experiencing major writer's block. Believe it or not, I wrote the first seven chapters in the duration of two weeks in January, and I haven't produced a single chapter ever since. I have utterly no motivation nor inspiration. But I will finish this series, no matter how long it might take. In the mean time, please bare with me.


	6. Melisandre I

She witnesses as her king pushes over a table, yelling gibberish words that are too fast for her foreign ears. The furniture flips over and lies, dead on the ground like a corpse.  _There is a storm coming._  The last time she saw his king this angry was when Renly declared himself king, then the man died under his order. The king has a strict rule regarding his supporters: those who do not serve him are against him. Kin or no kin, enemies will be repaid by blood. She wonders what did Lady Catelyn say to him so outrageous that he seems to be at the edge of breaking. Somehow Melisandre finds it hard to refer to her as Lady Baratheon, as what her current status makes of her. The title still rings too much of Selyse Florrent, the unintelligent woman who was so easily manipulated. Catelyn Tully is different. She notices things and keeps them to themselves, never reckless enough to share them unless required. When Melisandre saw Lady Catelyn by Renly's side during the failed negotiation she thought she was beautiful: her long red hair draping over her shoulders, with an elegance to the way she moved that suggested she was a lady born and raised in a castle and knew her manners. Melisandre once envied the rich when she was still a slave in Asshai before the Lord of Light reached down and lifted her out of the ashes. She used to slip out into the market when her master was unaware and just crouched at a corner peeking at the travelers. The westeros merchants always wrapped themselves in rich silks. Their daughters were like goddesses, their umblemished skin pearl white against the field of copper skinned Asshaians. Even their servant girls look well fed and gorgeous. She prayed, to not particularly one god but just any who was willing to listen to her prayers, that she could be rich as well with so many coins that they would slip through her fingers. R'hllor answered her prayer by granting her something far better and valuable: a vision that she could use to see beyond time and into the future her god has planned. She has since served her king well, in every way he feels pleased. But when they arrived in Winterfell Melisandre almost could not recognise Catelyn. She seemed to have aged by ten years in the duration of one. She looked lifeless, body so thin it was skeleton-like. She had the grim air of death surrounding her that drained the emotions off her. Melisandre does not blame her. Tragedy has its way seeping into this poor woman's life, taking away her loved ones. The only parts of her that still have a sign of life are her eyes, sky blue and fierce and they delivered one message only: there is fight left in her, and she will protect her family at any cost. However, enraging a king is a not a sensible move to take, especially one who does not easily forgive his enemies.  _There is a storm coming, even Lady Stark knows it._

"She is impossible." Stannis yells, his broad chest moving up and down in his rapid sharp exchange of breaths. "Disrespectful." He spits out the word in disgust, frowning. "How dare she says something so horrendous. Does she not know the consequence of offending a king?"

 

"Perhaps the approach you took was... improper." Melisandre crosses her legs in her armchair, her gaze lingering on the man. She dares not ask explicitly how the conversation went. She has a hunch that the fault lies with her king, but it would be deemed unwise to further provoke an already angry man.

 

"Improper?" Stannis snaps and turns to her, his eyes burning with annoyance. "She was improper, rude even. This marriage is a mistake. It was never meant to work."  

 

Melisandre rises and cups his chin, lifting it up slightly. Stannis shifts his head backward, but does not move away from her. She feels a tramendous sense of triumph flowing down her spine as a faint smile creeps up her lips. 

 

"Be assured, my king." She says as her thumb trails his jawline. "This marriage will be fruitful." 

 

Stannis narrows his eyes. "What do you mean?" 

 

Melisandre leans closer to him, her lips brushing his ear. She can feel his hot breath on her bare shoulder. "I saw him." 

 

"Who?" He exhales deeply, his rage disappearing into eagerness. 

 

"Your son." She whispers, and lays a kiss on his earlope. Her arms slowly wrap around him. Stannis presses his palms on her shoulders and gently shoves her away. But she knows he means no ill will as his eyes widen in amaze.

 

"Tell me." 

 

Melisandre takes his hands in hers and leans forward to kiss his knuckles. His fingers twitch at the contact. She smiles against his skin. It gains her satisfaction to delay giving him what he wants.

 

"I saw a young man in the flame, with the dark hair of Baratheons and the unique blue eyes of Tullys." Her kisses move upward to the back of his hands. Stannis stays still, concentrating on her words, as if he is not aware of where her lips are. "He is a warrior, and a ruler. All of the seven kingdoms in westeros will kneel in front of him and sing songs of his greatness." Melisandre hears a subtle laugh forming in his throat, but her king surpresses it, preventing it from leaving his mouth. "Those who follow him will love him and those who don't will fear him. His reign will last as long as he breathes." She leaves kisses on his collarbone, then his neck, then his cheek. Stannis has been abnormally quiet and uncomplaining. His gaze locked on his pristess, his pupils dark and dilated. "And he is your son, yours from Catelyn Tully." Her teeth grazes at the corner of his mouth as she parts her lips, seeking for approval. She can hear and feel when he ceases breathing for a few seconds. A sharp intake of breath and he presses his lips on hers, his movement bold and pushy. 

 

***************

 

After Stannis took his leave Melisandre pours herself some Dornish red. She can still taste him on her tongue, the flavour so unique and strong she is certain it will linger on until morrow.  _The taste of a king_ , the words have a dark but powerful ring to it. She sips her wine and stares at the fire in the fireplace. She moves towards it, the stone floor cold on her bare feet. The fire flickers, casting long and dark shadows on the walls. This does not disturb her. Shadows are servants of the light, just as she is. 

 

R'hllor has been generous in granting her visions lately. She imagined being in the north surrounded by these demon trees the northerners worship as gods would have reduced her power. But the Lord of Light is mightier and stronger than the trees.  _Of course_ , she thinks as she smiles at the flame,  _nothing burns faster than wood in a blaze._  She saw King's Landing consumed by fire, heard the High Septon screaming the loudest among the other followers of the Faith as he could smell his own flesh roasting in the heat. She also saw Stannis, broad and strong on his horse, swinging his sword as he marches into battle and defeats the usurpers. R'hllor told her of Stannis's victory, but never the details on how to achieve it. She used to be confused, especially after the tragic battle in Blackwater for she failed to see how could Stannis reinforce his army again and be strong enough to take back his throne. She had lost hope, and put aside her faith for R'hllor. But then it is all clear now. The remaining supporters of the Starks will soon flock to Stannis and defend him as they did with the young wolf, as long as he manages to maintain the marriage and secure the north. Perhaps Davos Seaworth does have some wit in him and not just a man with stubborn loyalty. She feels foolish now, looking back. After all the Lord of Lord has done for her and there were still doubts remained in her. But not anymore. She had sworn to devote her life to the work of her god and she will fufill her vow.  

 

Melisandre had sung the prophecy of the victory to Stannis. When she told him how he would ride through the gate of the Red Keep and capture Cersei Lannister along with her unholy offsprings, she saw the light of excitement in the king's eyes as he held her tighter and demanded more details from her. It has filled her with happiness knowing his king is pleased.

 

However, she did lie about one thing. 

 

Melisandre approaches the fireplace so the whole of her thighs could feel the warmth. She swallows a mouth-full of her wine, the heat of the liquor stirring in her stomach. She squats down and stares into the fire, the yellow brightness blinding her for a second. Without a hint of doubt she reaches out and touches the flame. The fire dances on her skin, hot but comforting, very much like the touch of her king.

 

R'hllor, as mysterious as he is, refuses to grant her the vision of any future children than her king and his current wife would share. The tale she had told was necessary for Stannis to carry on his attempt with Lady Catelyn. A little false information would not hurt his cause, assist it even. He works best when he is following his conviction. She trusts her king will win the heart of his wife, and she  _knows_  he is capable of producing a son. 

 

Melisandre picks up a log and throws it into the fire. The firewood cracks as it is engulfed in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I am an awful person for leaving this fic hanging. To be honest Steel and Silk is my favourite series to write. This AU world allows me to create basically anything I like and I absolutely love the flexibility and freedom. But my fountain of inspiration had run dry. 
> 
> Once again, I promise, even though I know my words are not something one could really count on, that there will be an ending to this fic one day. Just give me a year or two.


	7. Catelyn III

Ever since their unpleasant quarrel in his chamber Stannis has avoided Catelyn and her family. He would not join them for dinner, just as he as once promised to, but not that anyone has any complaint about it. Rickon could care less. He is too young to understand the concept of a marriage, still thinking Stannis is a guest who will soon take his leave. He is not half wrong, Catelyn guesses, Stannis's isolation has suggested nothing but that. Bran, on the other hand, could not be happier. He started eating again, and has become more like the cheerful boy he once was. The absence of his step-father seems to have brought back his appetite and lifted his spirit.

The whole existence of Stannis seems to be forgotten as if he was not even here. Only the sight of his soldiers training in the yard could remind her there is a king under her roof. Catelyn seldom sees him anymore. In the past week she has only caught one glimpse of his back when he was climbing the stairs to the library. His broad shoulders along with the heavy cloak he always wears make him a hard man to miss. She would not mind his absence, however. Whatever that he was so keen on pursuing in the first few days of his marriage died with their argument. If Stannis could so easily abandon his cause then it is probably not of importance. Catelyn just have to wait him out, and look forward to the day he departs her home and leaves her and her children be. 

The first ray of sunlight hits Catelyn and abruptly wakes her from her sleep. There are cold sweats on her back. She pants for air, feeling strangled and breathless. She had a nightmare, images of Ned's execution replaying over and over again in her head. She saw her husband died a million times: his head fell off his neck and bounced right back, only to fall off again as the sharp sword dropped. He screamed, the sound his mouth was making sounded nothing like her Ned. The scenes were so vivid as if she was there herself. She heard Joffrey laughing madly, along with Cersei, Varys, Petyr... The thought of Petyr enrages her. She left her husband to his trust and he failed her. It was a chance for him to redeem himself, after what he had done to Lysa, robbing her of her honor by stealing her maidenhood. He later married her, as Catelyn has come to know, and is now the Protector of the Vale, ruling the Eyrie along with her sister. He even brought his bastard with him. Catelyn finds the idea of him having a child absurd. He is not the ideal material for a father, being as unpredictable and controlling as he is. And he strikes her as a man who is too careful to produce a bastard. But she would not know, would she? They have long become strangers in life, just that the realisation had not come to her until recent events. Catelyn has not been in touch with him since their encounter in King's Landing. Believing him to be now a Lannister's creature she mistrusts the man, who was once her beloved little brother. 

After soothing her breathing pattern Catelyn sets her thoughts aside and rises. When she sits up her head feels heavy and misplaced on her neck. Her sight is suddenly too much for her to bear as she feels like she is spinning, her vision unfocused and distracting. She slams her eyelids shut, blocking the excess information. She lies back on her back. Never has she been this hot before, she feels as if she is on fire. 

Catelyn rolls over to her side to find a more comfortable position, only to be met by nausea. She has just enough time to hold her long hair back before she throws up on the floor. 

*************** 

Maester Luwin is clueless of what is causing her discomfort. She saw him flipping through a thick old book looking for the sickness that matches her symptoms. The search was unsuccessful. He felt her on her forehead and said she was cool, which did not make sense for she felt afire. There is nothing he could do at the moment except for advising her to stay in bed while he sends out ravens in seek of the other maesters for suggestions. 

Bran and Rickon came to visit. But they were not allowed to approach her since Maester Luwin is uncertain if what she has is contagious. Laying in her bed afar, she saw her children's brows furrowed in anxiety. Rickon was clutching tightly to Hodor's legs as he sobbed quietly, his mouth making soft mews. She thinks he was calling to her. Bran was quiet. He stared at her, his lips pressed. He had not said one word since Hodor carried him inside the room. She is afraid he will stop eating again because of this. She told them not to worry, that Maester Luwin will eventually come up with something, but her voice was so weak she thinks they might not have heard her. They were dismissed very soon by the maester, fearing further delay to her rest will worsen her condition. 

Left alone, again. Catelyn lies in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She imagines this was how Bran felt, when he woke up from his coma with no one there to care for him. She thinks he is still resentful, even so long after the event. She knows the boy would have translated her absence as a lack of care and love. He ignored her entirely the first two weeks she came back from Robb's war. There has been some improvement since then, of course. But Bran is no longer the joyful boy he used to be, the boy who clung to her mother and so dearly enjoyed her company. Perhaps being the Lord of Winterfell has forced him to grow up, to cast away whatever innocence was left in him. His childhood ended the day the Lannisters pushed him off the tower. What kind of beastly behaviour it was, to intentionally hurt or murder a child of eight? She hopes Stannis would crush the lions, and eliminate all of them. There are no rooms for mercy, not after what they have done to her first born. If Stannis could not be a loving husband, then he ought to avenge her. He owes her that much at least. 

A knock on the door startles her, and her stomach twists at the sudden noise. She covers her mouth and leans for the basin the servants have kindly put on the floor in case her nausea comes up again. She slowly calms her breaths as the restlessness in her belly gradually disappears. She falls back onto her pillow, the disgusting taste of bile still fresh on her tongue. Then she finally says, "Come in," her voice as weak as a dying woman's. 

A man walks in, his footsteps heavy but quick, unlike the usually slow and steady pacing of Maester Luwin. Catelyn flicks her gaze toward the visitor, and sees Stannis, her husband standing by the door with a gloomy expression on his face that suggests great distress. He closes the door gently behind him, but his feet takes root at the entrance, as if he has no intention or courage to take an extra step inside the room.

"Your grace." Catelyn pops her elbows up as she attempts to sit up. Strange, to face him again after his week of absolute absence. She has almost forgotten how socially impaired her husband could be under certain circumastances. But she is not surprised by his appearance, expecting it even. As a guest under her roof or as her husband in marriage, he ought to pay the sickly hostess a visit, to exchange his words of regards and then be on his way. She holds her speculation that he will soon dismiss himself with a vague excuse, believing he also finds this assembly unnecessary but minimally required for plain reasons of courtesy. 

"There is no need, my lady." Taking a few big steps and his husband has made his way to the side of her bed, towering over her as he gawks at her, a previously unrecognised blankness clearly marked on his dignified face. Catelyn freezes, her blue eyes surveying the man, herself slightly startled by his sudden movement. 

"I insist." She tests. She sits up and presses her back against the bed frame, the rigidness of the wood pricking her spine. She holds her sheet up to her chest, knowing how the king despises the view of skin and flesh. Then she stares back at him, hinting his chance of expressing how much he cares and how sincerely he wishes for her full recovery has finally arrived. But the man remains silent as they look upon each other, sky blue on dark blue eyes, as if he has either decided to disregard her cues or has simply misread them. An air of awkwardness hangs between them, and Catelyn begins fidgeting uncomfortably in her bed, feeling the colour slowly rising on her cheeks. 

"What is it, your grace?" She asks, annoyed and displeased. There are times when she finds herself secretly comparing her husband with his brothers, and right now is one of those times. The older Baratheon might be blunt and loud, and sometimes ridiculously rude when drunk, but Robert could be irresistible when he chose to, and she knows for certain many women had fallen for the black-haired warrior; And then came Renly, the ever so charming young rose of the family, always so charismatic and handsome. A small grin from him was enough to send noble maidens begging their fathers to marry them to Lord Renly. Both of them could undoubtedly maintain a proper conversation with a woman without causing any embarrassment. And here is Stannis Baratgeon, her husband in marriage and the king to the seven kingdoms, but is currently pulled back by some unknown reasons that prevent him from speaking his mind. She wonders if the gods are mocking her. 

Stannis relaxes his clenched jaw and slightly opens his mouth at her question. Then he immediately seals his lips shut and looks away, his eyes reviewing the grate located at the distant corner of her chamber as his legs slowly drag himself away to the fire.

"Are you in pain?" He mumbles quietly, firms eyes still locked on the grate, as if he has suddenly found great interest in the watching of burning wood logs. 

Catelyn hesitates, but decides she has no reason to keep the truth from him. It is a general inquiry, and she should be glad her husband is willing to speak and is after all not a mute. 

"Not at first," She turns her head to stare into the dancing fire as well. Surprisingly, the gentle swaying of the tongues of flame has a rather relaxing effect on her mind. "It was simply nausea, then it escalated into this burning sensation, like my body was on fire. Everything hurt, and the pain kept pouring down until my screaming was loud enough to be heard from the hallway." She recalls, and discovers her legs are shaking under the sheet. She steadies herself before continuing. "Then the pain would stop, just to come back again to haunt me. Maester Luwin suggested the intake of a small dosage of sweetsleep to moderate the condition. But I am afraid I cannot hold the content in my stomach for long." She squeezes a bitter smile at her husband, as he stares straight into the fire, his brows creased deeply in contemplation.

A wood log cracks, breaking the silence, and dots of orange sparkle rise into the air and disappear. 

Stannis sighs, and holds his hands behind him. He turns his body, hiding his face away from her. "I apologise." He states, the way his voice is trembling almost unnoticeable.

"What for?" Catelyn tilts her head and asks, as a worrying feeling begins to seep into her. It is uncommon for her husband to be so... scared. "That is no fault of yours."

"I apologise." Stannis repeats. She sees his one hand tightening into a fist, grasping the wrist of the other. "I..." He turns around, his voice sounding sad with remorse. Something sinks in her heart when she notices the fear and guilt in his always confident and authoritative eyes. Stannis's mouth opens and closes, as if he has words he would like to say, but lacks the courage to deliver them. 

"Stannis..." She whispers, and his gaze dart forward at her at the calling of his name.

The tall man starts walking to her, and before she could stop herself she has instinctively shifted on her bed to form a safe distance between them. Stannis halts, at a mere arm length from her, his lips twitching and the feeling of hurt apparent on his face. Catelyn instantly recognises her wrongdoing and how awfully rude she was. She leans forward to reach out to him, but he has already backed away, grinding his teeth as he makes quick pace to the door. Then he leaves, without a further glance at his wife. 

Catelyn sinks back into her bed at the closing sound of her door, and feels lost. The day has been dramatic enough without her horrible misdoing. She can see she has wounded his pride with her over-cautiousness, flinching away when the man was just beginning to make a conversation with her. She holds her shaking knees together as a sneer escapes her mouth. She mocked Stannis for his insecurity the other night in her chamber, but she is now the one to move away at the approach of her husband, someone she knows is too honourable to lay a hand on her and hurt her. Why was it then? Why did she flinch? 

She buries her face in her palms, and exhales deeply. Then she notices the irritating heat in her is gone. The nausea threatening to overturn her has simply vanished. Her head is no longer dizzy and felt dislocated from her shoulders. She tests, by removing the blanket and laying her feet on the ground. She stands up and walks a few steps. She can feel the cool air through the thinness of her shift and the stone under her feet is cold but she pays them no mind. She quickly makes way to the closet and pulls out the first dress her hand touches. In desperate haste she puts the garment on disregarding the complication of the laces and squeezes her feet into a pair of shoes. 

When Catelyn is traveling through the castle to reach her destination she has neglected the several greetings from some of the servants who have kindly asked for her well-being or if she needs to see the maester at once. She is almost tempted to stop and thank them for their concern. But she needs to get the words out of her chest that will surely suffocate her if she keeps them to herself. 

"Mother!" 

Catelyn stops and looks behind her. Hodor is waddling towards her with Bran strapped on his back. The young lord is peeking out from behind the muscular shoulders of the stable boy with a look of surprise. 

"Mother, why are you out of bed?" Bran asks as Hodor stands in front of her, the half-wit's eyes shooting upward at the ceiling as if there is something interesting marked on the stone. "I am certain Maester Luwin has advised against leaving the chamber, especially when you are so heavily ill." Bran says, his tone half scolding and half worried. 

"I am well now, Bran." Catelyn says to her son, reaching out to give the boy's arm a light pat. Bran squints at her, but not unkindly. "Where is your brother, Bran, and where are you and Hodor heading to?" 

"Hodor is just taking me to my riding practice. Maester Luwin said I should practise more with my new horse straddle." He replies, his hand stroking the stable boy's shoulder gently as he turns his gaze away from his mother to the yard in a distance. "As for Rickon," he looks back at Catelyn with an obvious annoyance in his voice. "He was crying all morning for you. He would not leave my side until just now when he has finally exhausted himself with all his crying and screaming. He should be in his chamber right now napping." He pauses, then tilts his head. "I am not my brother's keeper. And as his mother you should have known better. But judging by the direction you are heading to you are not going to see Rickon are you?" His voice has turned angry and nothing like the sweet Bran she once knew. Catelyn tenses at his sudden change and she feels like someone has carved out a hole in her heart. Bran lets out a grumpy snarl as he furiously shakes his head. "You are his mother and he cares so much for you. But the first thing you did after you are well again is not to go see your youngest son. Where are you going, mother? What is it that is so important you could not spare the little time to see your worrying children?" He barks, his grip on the stable boy's shoulder tightening, making Hodor squirm awkwardly under the pressure. Then he looks into the hallway behind Cateyln, and a moment of epiphany appears on his face. "You are off to see Stannis Baratheron." He states, and a sneer escapes his lips when he sees that Catelyn has made no correction regarding the statement. "You care more for a man you have only married for a week who has not shown his face since the very beginning than for your youngest son. You did not even know him that well before he marched his army into my home through the gate, and you are just going to neglect Rickon and run into his arms. What kind of mother are you? Rickon deserves m--" 

Catelyn slaps him. 

The slam of her palm on Bran's cheek has startled and stressed out Hodor, who is now stomping the ground as he repeatedly mutters his own name. Bran freezes, his eyes wide open in shock as he stares at the wall on his right, the red mark on his face highly visible and will certainly swell into a pink lump in no time. Catelyn's hand hurts, and drops of wet tears begin running down her face. Angrily she wipes them off with her sleeve. 

"You--You hit me." Bran stutters, as he raises his hand to touch his cheek, as if he needs more evidence to verify this reality. 

"I am your mother, Brandon Stark." Catelyn says coldly, every muscle in her body trembling with rage. "You will not talk to your mother like this again. Do you understand?" 

She feels so angry and ashamed, at her son and at herself. She has failed the task of a mother to educate her children so they will grow into well-behaved adults with high morality. As Ned's son and Robb's brother Bran's strong sense of honor almost comes naturally. But it is apparent that she has spoiled the child with her patience. Perhaps it is guilt, the guilt that she was absent when her little boy woke from his coma, the guilt that has driven her into tolerating the boy's often lack of manner. She allowed him to be impudent, thinking it was a phrase and his way of coping with the anger inside him. But she is afraid it is slowly becoming a part of him now. She saw the shadow of Joffrey Baratheon in Bran when he was condemning her with a reason that is not even true. The young lord acted on his impulsiveness and raging thoughts, just like the dead boy king once did. She is disappointed at Bran. She had high expectation for him, hoping he will become a good lord like his brother and father before him, loved and respected by his people. But her oldest living son is hateful, resenting all those that he thinks have wronged him. She was as shocked as he was by her action. She had never struck her children before. She was always gentle with them, believing violence is not the answer to correcting misbehaviours. But sometimes a mother needs to do what needs to be done, even if it cuts her to see her children get hurt. 

Bran bites on his lips, reluctant to meet her eyes with his. But ridgidly he lowers his hand and turns to his mother.

"I apologise." He whispers, as he drops his gaze in remorse. "I was... disrespectful." 

"Hodor?" Hodor tilts his big head in confusion of the situation.

Catelyn smiles at her son, pleased to see at least the child is willing to learn from his mistakes. As a sign of forgiveness, she walks up to him and musses his red hair. 

"Stop, mother." The act draws a childish laugh from him.

Catelyn lightly strokes his hair as she smooths out the messiness. There is still a lot to learn. Go have fun, ride your horse, be a child. She wishes she could say that to him, but he could not afford the luxury of a childhood when he is the Lord of Winterfell. With this in mind, she stands on her toes and kisses her son on his right cheek, apologetically. 

*************** 

Catelyn's slender fingers trail along the wood grain. The oak wood door feels weirdly warm under the current low temperature. She wishes to lean close to the door and listen for the slightest hint of what he could be doing. But the act itself seems un-ladylike and highly devious. She dares not bring Stannis the impression that she bears an unkind intention, understanding his dubious and mistrusting nature. But then she doubts if he could further distant himself from her, being as isolated as he already is. She forms her hand into a fist, but a sudden sense of uncertainty fills her when she is about to knock on the door. 

She is nervous, unsure how she could make a reconciliation with the stern man. She knows it is not in his nature to reveal his emotions, even when there are moments when she would catch him having some. What he said and had allowed himself to express back then is not much, but it has already given her a small hope that Stannis Baratheon could be a caring person. She feels the need to hold on to these opportunities before he crawls back into his cave and appears to be cold and unloving again. 

Catelyn breathes out, and knocks firmly on the door. 

Unexpectedly, the door slides open with an ugly creak. She creases her brows, not knowing if she should quietly close the door and begone or if she could take a peek and see if he is inside. She looks around the corridor, and makes certain that no one would see her and misjudge her as a thief or an intruder. Then she takes a timid step inside the room.

"Stannis?" She quietly says, as she opens the door wider. 

Nothing but a blazing fire at the fireplace greets her as she enters. The curtains are all closed, blocking the midday sunlight and making the room as dark as night. Rather unusual, Catelyn thinks as she closes the door behind her. A quick glance around and she sees her husband is clearly not present. She cannot spot any personal item that she would expect to see in a bedchamber. The room is lifeless except for the burning fire at the corner. The emptiness of it makes it feels... deserted. There is no sign that suggest a man could have been living here for almost two weeks. It is as if she has entered a wrong room. But no, she opens the closet and sees his black cloak neatly folded inside. His sigil, the black Baratheon stag in the middle of a crowned fiery heart is embroidered on the garment. No one in the north would bare a sigil like this, making this room unmistakably his. 

Catelyn backs away from the room and as she closes the door, she thinks, there is only one place left where she could find her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear with this filler chapter. I am not too happy with my own writing in this but again, please bear with me.


	8. Stannis IV

The red woman has no idea of the coming of his warth as he storms into the library. She slowly lifts her head from her book and gives him a light and easy smile, despite the apparent displease marked on his face. 

"What have you done?" He angrily pulls her up from her chair. "What have you done to her?" His fingers gradually tighten around her arm, his nails digging into her silky pale flesh. 

Melisandre chuckles, the playfulness in her eyes further infuriating him. He is so angry he wants to hurt her. But a king must behave himself and act out his manner, and gods forbid, any man who lays hand on a woman is no man, so he chooses to stand there and haunt her with his most intimidating and reprimanding look. But the woman's chuckle turns into a mischevious laugh under his scorching gaze. Stannis is confused, and utterly offended. He could feel the redness creeping onto his ear roots as he grinds his teeth.

"What is so funny, priestess?" He hisses, and pulls her closer to him to let her see the rage in his eyes. Her face is an mere inch from his and he could smell the perfume off her, its fragrance so strong it irritates his nose, but he refuses to back off. 

Melisandre grins, showing off her pearl white teeth. Even at the time of condemnation the woman appears to be flawless in her appearance. "My king," she greets softly. Stannis suddenly hates the way her eyes are watching him. Her pools of blue are glinting in amusement, seemingly mocking him. He dislikes her lack of seriousness, as if nothing matters, as if he is simply being melodramatic. "Why are you so upset?" She asks. Agilely, and without any warning, she moves forward and touches his lips with hers.

Stannis yelps and lets go of her arm like he has been burnt. "You do not get to ask questions, priestess." He narrows his eyes at her, his hands forming into fists.

Melisandre smiles at him, with a certain sadness in her expression that Stannis did not expect. He lowers his gaze and notices the pink marks on her arms where he has dug his nails into. He has scratched her without realising and yet she has not made a single complaint. Stannis is slightly taken aback, if not completely moved, but still forces himself to be stern and ruthless, as he ought to be. He demands answers and he is getting them.

"Tell me. What have you done?" He pushes. 

Melisandre's smile dies down, and is replaced by an eerie expression that hides her behind a mask of mystery. "Why, my king, was that not what you asked for?" She blinks and lifts her head, looking at him with concern.  

"What do you mean?" He cautiously asks. He has a feeling that he is walking on thin ice. One step and he will fall off the rim into a bottomless darkness. 

"How dare she says something so horrendous," She murmurs and begins toying with her long hair, her finger twisting the red curl that hangs over her shoulder. "Does she not know the consequence of offending a king?" She locks eyes with him and takes a step towards him. 

"What are you saying?" Alarmingly Stannis leans backward. His waist brushes with the desk behind him. 

"I was simply repeating what you have told me, my king." Melisandre advances forward and presses herself onto him, her breasts soft against his chest. Stannis finds himself standing very still. "Was that not what you want?" She whispsers into his ear as her hands climb up to reach his hair. Her hot breath on his skin brings a cold chill down his spine whilst his whole body feels uncomfortably warm. "I laid down your punishment, that's all." She grazes her tongue over his neck and nibs at his ear, her fingers stroking the back of his scalp. 

"You really did this." Stannis whispers in horrid confirmation. He had his suspicion, yes. But they were guesses, mere speculation made after hearing Maester Luwin's report on Catelyn's illness. He almost gasped at the mentioning of his lady wife's burning sensation, but managed to maintain his calmness in front of the weary old man. He has been around Melisandre long enough to understand that anything that sounds remotely unnatural would indeed be the work of the priestess. After his little conversation with Catelyn he was even more driven to confront his priestess. He is certain that she is capable of such doing. After all, she had ripped lives for him in the past, and causing pain would seemingly be a child's play in comparison. However, this is the first time she has ever done something that was not a direct order of his. She has taken the meaning of his words literally, the words that he said while in rage that were nothing more than an outburst of excessive emotions. He knows she is too clever to actually believe he meant what he said, but he cannot see why she would act out on her own like this. 

"Why," Stannis grips both her wrists in his hands and lowers them to her sides. He looks at her beautifully carved face, searching for hints of remorse, but finds none. He was not expecting any anyway. She is not the kind that would regret her actions. "Why would you do something like that? What was it that you were trying to achieve?" 

"I aim to serve you, my king," She replies, her tone suddenly turned cold and harsh. "I serve your forseen victory. R'hllor demanded it. He demanded you as king, and that was what I was trying to achieve." 

"How is hurting her like this equilivalent to gaining me my crown?" Stannis realises his voice sounds almost painful. 

She is silent, her gaze dropped. For a good while all he could hear is his own shallow breathing and the sound of the late autumn wind howling outside the castle walls. Eventually she looks back up at him. 

"I was removing an obstacle," She wriggles her wrists free from his clutches and takes a step back, crossing her arms together in front of her bodice. For a second there she looks puzzled and vulnerable. "An obstacle that would be proven a problem if not overcome." 

"My lady wife is not an obstacle." Stannis hisses between clenched jaw. His hands are shaking and he finds the need to steady himself or he may just lunge forward at the red woman. "She is your queen, and I forbid you to harm her, no matter what your reason may be." He pauses. "R'hllor or not, I am your king, and this is a command, Melisandre." 

The priestess seems hurt. She turns away and bows her head, with recognisable sadness in her eyes. She sinks back into her chair, her movement slow and languid. For the first time Stannis fails to see the usual energy and conviction in his priestess. She has been his source of confidence since the downfall of House Baratheon, after the death of Robert with the bastard of Cersei Lannister declaring himself king. Stannis was lost, with no hope of retaking the throne against the sea of soldiers clad in crimson cloaks. But she had made him strong, and stayed by him even during the aftermath of his failed attack at Blackwater Bay, which was the price he had to pay for his pride. She has made sacrifices, abandoning her home just to follow him, and yet she has received no gratitude. Has he already turned into Robert, so blinded by the thirst for power that he has lost sight of the who is the ally to his course and who is the dagger in the dark? 

Something softens within him. He flinches away from the sight of Melisandre being broken, as if one more look of the woman would make him tremble. He needs his priestess, as much as a knight needs his sword hand. A knight does not sever his sword hand when it is infected by frostbite. He tends to it, to make sure his arm is whole. Stannis is ready to dismiss her crime, when a cold voice whispers to him from behind. 

"It is only just," The voice says, its tone mocking with a hint of disdain.

Stannis immediately turns around, his right hand reaching over to his scabbard for his sword. There is no one there but a tall bookcase that looks as old as time. He marches towards the shelf, his hand still gripping tightly of his half-sheathed sword. His eyes make quick search for any possible hiding spot near the furniture as his spare hand knocks on the wood. The sound is solid. There is no hidden passage, but not that he thought anyone could have a faster reaction than his and shielded themselves before he could turn his back. Strange, he thinks and frowns, sliding his sword back into the sheath. 

"--To cut off the hand,"

Stannis snarls and flings himself around, his sword slashing through the space of where the neck of an assassin should have been, making a clean cut of their head. Only there is no assassin. Stannis relaxes his arm and lets the sword clashes with the stone ground in a loud clank as he pants, his chest moving rapidly to his breathing. He furiously scans through his surrounding. There is obviously no one here except him and his priestess, who looks terrified and is eyeing him worriedly. 

"Where?" He barks. He could swear there was  someone behind him and they were so close he could feel the hot air from their mouth on the back of his neck. It is impossible for a human to disappear without being seen or at the very least leaving a trace. Melisandre must have known where the assassin went. But she is refusing to give him this piece of information as she stands up and takes a step back. "Where?" He yells at her. He rushes to her and grabs her jaw. Her fingers frantically scratch at his, her face going pale as she struggles to breathe.

"N--no one was here." She squeaks, the lack of air starting to suffocate her. 

"--Than to damn your whole self into fire."

Stannis roars and lets go of Melisandre. He turns and violently swings his sword, chopping down a wooden table near him. Again, he could not find a single soul. Stannis is terrified, but still holding on to his weapon. The voice, this time, was further away from him, but it was loud, and daunting. It was the voice of a god, the voice of a demon, the voice of the Crone. 

It is only just to cut off the hand than to damn your whole self into fire. 

The meaning of the words is as horrifying as they were delivered. He turns his body and faces his priestess. She is still collapsed on the floor, her mouth opened gasping for air. She is not as gracious as she would usually present herself now, with strands of red hair covering her eyes and the hisses that come from her mouth sounding raspy and desperate. Was he 'damning himself into fire' when he decided to pardon Melisandre? Stannis composes his thoughts. He was right before. Justice must be served no matter the costs. The day he replaces righteousness with mercy is the day he will fall, and Stannis refuses to fall when he is barely even standing. 

And so, he walks up to her, his sword still clutched in his hand. 

"For your crime," He softly says. Melisandre gasps and stares at him. "I, Stannis of House Baratheon, first of my name, King of the Andals..." A lump has formed in his throat. He does not have the will to continue. But he must, as a king must do his duties. He sighs, and continues. "The Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm," The woman at his feet begins weeping and begging for his mercy, which he is determined not to give. A sacrifice is never easy, or it is no true sacrifice. "Hereby sentence you to--"

"Stannis!" 

His gaze shifts towards the figure at the entrance of the library. There stands his lady wife, her hand covering her mouth and her eyes widen in shock. She rushes towards him and rests her hand on his sword hand. The moment she touches him he feels weak, as if something has been drained from him. His body wavers, and drops onto the ground.

The last thing he felt was Lady Catelyn's soft hand brushing over his forehead. Then everything went dark.


End file.
